Page 77 of Rescuing You

But the sisters were standing, hugging.

On the floor of the van, the kid lay lifeless.

The rear door dropped against the floor with a clatter.

“Are there any more?” Michael asked. At Leila’s quick head-shake, he said, “Are you hurt?”

“We’re all right.”

Michael pushed himself to the ground and bolted to the back of the truck.

Splat was crumpled on the asphalt, unconscious.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Leila had thought the danger was past, so when Michael shouted that he needed help, her stomach plummeted to her toes.

Jasmine raised the rear door, and Michael laid Splat inside. Splat, who’d been dead—hadn’t he?

But he must’ve been the one to raise the rear door and shoot the guard. She hadn’t gotten a look because the second the man went down, the door slammed shut again.

And now she saw why.

“Back down the alley,” Michael shouted. “The truck is there.”

Leila shook out of her stupor and launched herself into the driver’s seat. She’d never driven such a big vehicle, but she managed to shift into reverse and hit the gas. It wasn’t easy keeping the van straight with two flat tires, and she made no effort to avoid the bodies, just rolled over them. Protecting the living was more important than respecting the dead. Especially these dead.

She reached the mouth of the alley. “Which way?” Her voice sounded calm, belying the shock and panic in her body.

“I don’t know!” Michael’s words were strangled.

She peered in both directions, saw a blue pickup and hoped that was the rental. She drove that way.

The cargo door rose, and Michael said, “Open the tailgate.”

Jasmine hopped out and lowered the back of the pickup.

Leila opened the door and, just before she jumped out, caught sight of the backpack on the floor in front of the passenger seat.

She snatched it, praying it held the forged passport. She didn’t have time to grab anything else and doubted they’d be back.

She ran to the pickup’s driver seat. The truck was running already. She found the lights and flicked them on, then grabbed a phone in the console and searched for a hospital.

The tailgate closed. In the rearview, Jasmine and Michael were bent over Splat.

Cloth ripped. Jasmine said, “He needs a tourniquet.”

Leila pressed the button to navigate and hit the gas.

Please, God. Please, don’t let him die.

It took ten minutes. Ten precious minutes. And then she pulled toward the ER, honking to alert those inside that they needed help.

A woman in scrubs came out, looked over the edge of the pickup, and ran back inside.

More people came out seconds later, one pushing a gurney.

Splat was lifted onto it.